


Wasting Away

by bossxtweed



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Child Death, Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, medical exploitation, tuberculosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:33:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24485158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossxtweed/pseuds/bossxtweed
Summary: Dhawan!Master pays a visit to the Timeless Child, who happens to be very sick and very scared, and he offers them understanding and friendship.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Wasting Away

When Tecteun found the child, they were too weak to speak, but they seemed to understand that she meant them no harm, and so went willingly with her to Gallifrey, where they marvelled at the twin suns and silver trees and endless expanse of red dirt. Immediately Tecteun began to teach them her language, starting with the alphabet and numbers up to ten. They quickly made progress and could soon speak Old High Gallifreyan _flawlessly_ with no trace of an accent, and they became fast friends with one of the other children.

They were happy and well-cared for until the accident.

Tecteun’s hearts hardened as her focus shifted from keeping the child healthy to exploiting their regenerative capabilities for her own use, and she set out with a series of questions in mind, including:

  1. _was there a limit coded into their DNA?_
    1. _if so, what was it?_
  2. _what were the side effects......._
    1. _on the **body?**_
    2. _on the **mind?**_
  3. _could these properties be isolated and transferred into another being?_  

    1. _could the child **choose** how they looked?_



After each regeneration, the child complained of nausea and a _wicked_ headache, and they could hardly stand -- a fact which would render entire armies _worthless_ should **_all_ ** of them happen to regenerate at once -- and Tecteun made a note to _eliminate_ that should her experiments work.

With regards to the mind she assumed that things would remain stable -- after all, her adopted child remained _curious_ and _happy_ throughout their first few regenerations. She almost didn’t notice when they stopped chattering away and chose instead to stare blankly at the wall for hours on end, not moving, hardly breathing, screaming internally but so far removed from the other Gallifreyan children such that they had _no one_ they could turn to for help.

Help arrives one night in the form of a stout, dark haired man with warm brown skin and a haunted look in his eyes. He treads softly through the corridors, past the room in which Tecteun, now gray-haired, sleeps, and for the briefest of moments wants to end it all **_here and_** **_now,_** before it even begins----to cut out the cancer before it grows malignant, preventing the Time Lords from ever coming into being.

Such a paradox would tear the universe apart, but part of him thinks it a worthy sacrifice if it means preventing his friend anymore pain. 

He finds them with their wrists cuffed to part of the bedpost, their frame gaunt and their eyes wide with fear, and tears stream down his face as he holds out a hand, saying, “it’s alright, it’s alright; I’m a **_friend._ ** _”_

“Mum doesn’t let me have friends,” they say, their voice weak. “Says the other kids wouldn’t understand why I keep changing.”

Sharp pain shoots through the Master’s hearts, but despite it he manages a smile---one which conveys a hopeful sort of compassion---and says, “I understand. The other children change too, just…. not in the same way,” **_not yet, anyway,_** he thinks bitterly. 

He takes a cautious step forward and they shrink away, their eyes darting now and then to the door but never making contact with his own. Their mum would be **_very_** displeased to know that someone had visited, and they could only imagine what the punishment would be---more time added on to how long they were trapped inside, at best, and a very sudden, **_very_** violent death at worse, followed by physical restraint (with the straps leaving bright red marks where they fight against them) and total sensory deprivation.

They cough, staining the bedsheets with splatters of reddish-orange blood.

“Consumption?” he asks, crouching down before their bed. “A **_nasty_** disease, really, one that also plagues other species. In fact, I _think_ one of y---” noting the confusion on their features, he waves one hand, saying, “no, never mind.”

They would get there the long way round, with Amy and Rory in tow, and he only knew about the event because the blonde-haired Doctor had mentioned it during a drunken game of ‘never have I ever.’ 

“Here,” he pulls out a small rectangular device and aims it at the cuffs, unlocking them, and their arms fall heavily onto the mattress.

“Wha’s tha’?” they ask weakly, curling into themself on the mattress. “Is it _magic?”_

“Magic?” he echoes, rocking slightly on his heels, and he shakes his head before saying, “nah, it’s not _magic._ It’s _sonic._ It can open doors and unlock handcuffs and make a _lot_ of noise when I need it to.” 

_Am I where they get it from?_ he wonders, sliding the device into his inner coat pocket. _All those_ **_sonic screwdrivers_ ** _that they wave about like_ **_magic wands,_ ** _does it start_ **_here,_ ** _with me showing them something similar? Huh._

“I don’t know if I like science,” the child breathes, their voice barely above a whisper, and the Master claps one hand over his mouth, suppressing a sob. 

_The_ **_Doctor_ ** _loves science, and learning, and they constantly seek out as much knowledge as they can, but this kid…._ **_I was right,_ ** he drops his hand and shoves aside the amalgam of emotions which stems from reflecting on his species’ origin and the destruction of their homeworld, and instead affects a smile before saying, “that’s alright. You don’t have to, what with your mum running all of those _tests_ on you.”

They break out in a fit of coughing and the Master hastens to shut the door, holding his breath for fear that the draught he’d slipped into Tecteun’s tea wouldn’t hold out (he would not be able to restrain himself were she awake, and killing her _now_ would erase his own existence, and _besides,_ he had not come here for _her,_ but for the scared kid who was now dying of a horrible disease, one which humans affectionately referred to as the ‘wasting disease’ and which the child _should_ **_not_ ** _have been allowed to develop,_ had they access to proper medical care).

Burying themself in the blankets (which too spoke of blood stains), they ask, “Y---you said your name was---?”

 _I didn’t,_ he thinks sadly. Even _Koschei_ would be giving away too much information, but--- “O.”

“O?” they ask skeptically. “Y’ can’t simply be named ‘O.’”

“Yes, I _can,”_ he retorts, with no aggression or animosity in his tone. _“I_ think it’s mysterious!”

They laugh brokenly, the sound of joy quickly giving way to another fit of coughing, and he holds out a hand towards them, saying, “hey. _Hey_ now. You’re alright, love. Slow, deep breaths…”

Once the fit subsides, they fall quiet for several moments, their breaths coming in short rasps, and the Master bites down on his hand to keep from _screaming_ because they were too far gone, now, and he would have to watch them _die_ only to leave them with Tecteun for her to conduct more experiments.

Finally they manage, “Mum’s been staying away. She---she doesn’t want to get sick like me, says it’ll mess up her work, but I much prefer the quick deaths.”

“You shouldn’t be going through this,” the Master’s voice speaks of barely-contained rage. “Your ‘mum,’ she---she’s _wretched_ and _vile_ and---”

“I _know_ what my mum is like,” they interject. “But I’m _not_ allowed outside and there’s _no one_ who’ll listen to me, so I **_don’t_ **appreciate you insulting her.”

He falls quiet before nodding. _They don’t deserve this. Outcast, alone, exploited in order to create a----_ ** _my_ ** _species…._

He stays with them even as golden tendrils of energy emit from their fingertips, their toes, burning their brain, but once it subsides their cough and the pain that came with it are gone, and they again curl up under the covers, unable to turn their head without feeling a dull, aching fog.

“You’re not afraid?” 

The Master shakes his head. “No, I’m not. And, hey,” he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small, leather bound notebook, which he holds out to them. “Take this. I scribbled my phone number in the front, and you can call me anytime. Can’t say I’ll always answer, but---if you need someone to talk to.”

They take the journal, flip it open, and smile at the inscription. “Thank-you, O.” Their eyes flutter shut before they manage to say, “I’m tired.” 

“Rest now. You’ve earned it. I have to leave now, though. Can’t have your mum finding me here---and you _can’t_ show her the journal, no matter what.”

They nod and tuck the journal into their pillowcase before asking, “will I see you again?”

He stands and smiles sadly. “You will do, one day. But that’s _far_ off in the future. Rest now.”

He stays until they’ve drifted off to sleep. 


End file.
